


quiet summer

by PoisonApple



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Deaf Character, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 10:37:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/596759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonApple/pseuds/PoisonApple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry was used to awkwardness and confusion, people not knowing how to react to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	quiet summer

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from [livejournal](http://one-d-fanwork.livejournal.com/120884.html#cutid1)  
> It can get a bit confusing so _italics is dialogue in sign language_ and **bold is handwriting**. Regular quotes used for lip-reading.

Harry Styles was 17 years old. It was the first day of summer and he had the whole world ahead of him; road trips, swimming, bike rides, laying in the sun, staying up late, and stealing alcohol from his parents. At least, that's what Harry believed would be true in an ideal world.  
  
His mum and step dad were fighting again. He could sense the tense energy in the room, and he could see it in their wide gestures, furrowed brows, and their lips moving too fast for Harry to catch up. He closed his eyes and let the anger wash over him. He knew how these arguments always ended anyway, 'he's my son and I know what's best for him.' Most mothers would be glad their son wanted to pick up more shifts at their summer job.  
  


* * *

It was a stupidly hot July day, and Harry was already sweaty from spending all morning near the ovens of the bakery where he worked. The sun was beating down without even a hint of wind. It was stifling, and Harry reveled in the thick feeling of silence it created. He felt as though, for once, he wasn't missing everything going on around him.  
  
It was only a 15-minute walk to his house, but by the time he got home his white t-shirt was drenched in sweat. There was an unfamiliar car in the driveway which meant his mum had guests over, so he opted to duck around the huge bush at the side of his house, climb part way up the trellis and up on to the roof that sat just outside his window. Useful information learned from a rebellious 14-year-old Harry, who used to sneak out regularly.  
  
His room was full of possessions, really old CDs from before Harry turned 12, DVDs, posters, piles and piles of books, and several trinkets. Harry had a hard time throwing things away. Harry quickly removed his soaking shirt, and slipped on a black tank that nicely showed off the definition that was starting to form in his arms. He wiped his face off with a towel that he then threw in the direction of his laundry bin.  
  
Harry crept down the steps, careful to avoid the 4th step from the top, which he knew creaked. His mum was sitting in the living room with Ms. Horan, whom Harry had met several times. Ms. Horan and her two kids had moved to Holmes Chapel from Ireland only a year before. Harry's older sister, Gemma, had made fast friends with the older son, Greg, but the other one was off to an all boys boarding in a different city before anyone even had a chance to know who he was. Harry looked at the third person sitting in the living room. It was a blonde boy with pale skin, bright red cheeks and really bright, blue eyes. It was only when Harry noticed the boy's eyes that he realized the boy was staring at him, and his mum was calling his name and signing at him from the opposite sofa.  
  
 _Harry, this is Maura's son. He's home from school for the summer, and he's only a year older than you. Why don't you show him the backyard?_  
  
Harry really liked Ms Horan. She was very sweet, but he wasn't sure how he felt about being forced to hang out with her son just because his mother wanted him to have friends his own age. But the boy looked non-threatening enough, so Harry listened to his mother for once and gestured at the boy to follow him as he walked towards their back door.  
  
The sun was still overbearing and bright, especially after being in the cool, dark house for a while. Harry just about sat down in the middle of his sunny yard until he remembered the fair skin tone of his guest, and opted to sit on the large outdoor couch his mum had spent a fortune on the previous summer. It had a nice large covering over it to provide decent shade.  
  
Harry sat down cross-legged on one side of the couch, and he watched Ms. Horan's son sit down carefully on the couch next to him. The boy looked surprisingly calm, which was not something Harry was used to. Harry was used to awkwardness and confusion, people not knowing how to react to him. But the boy was just surveying the yard, and Harry decided that he looked much better in natural light. Harry reached in to the back pocket of his shorts to pull out the small notepad and miniature pen he kept handy for communicating.  
  
He tapped the shoulder of the blonde boy to get his attention.  **I never got your name.**  
  
He sees the boy mouthing something, but he can't understand what he is saying, so he thrusts the pen and pad into the boy's hand.  
  
 **Niall** , the boy writes in loopy letters, a flourish on the N, and an uneven loop over the i. Harry says the name over and over in his head, Niall, Niall, Niall. He wonders how it sounds, how it would roll off his tongue. He's still staring at the page when Niall pulls it away again to write something else.  
  
 **Maybe you could teach me how to sign it?**  
  
That was new. Harry took a deep breath and met Niall's curious gaze. His smile came naturally. He pointed at the N on the page and made the sign with his hand. After only a few moments of practicing, Niall could spell out his and Harry's name perfectly.  
  
 **You're a quick study.**  Harry's writing was messy and awkward compared to Niall's looped penmanship. He looked up at the blonde boy who was just contentedly staring out at the grass of the lawn. Niall was...different than other people he had met his age (or any age, really). Most people regarded him with trepidation, like he might be dangerous or a loose cannon just because he was deaf. Or, even worse, people would treat him like he was stupid or slow. Niall treated it as a non-issue. In fact, he had even made an effort to converse with Harry in his most proficient mode of communication.  
  
Harry tried not to dwell on what he could not do, because it was totally pointless, and he had already wasted so much time doing that, but he couldn't help but think about what Niall's voice sounded like. He imagined it was bright and sunny much like his blonde hair, big smile and handwriting. He knew Niall was from Ireland so he must have an accent. Harry hadn't really thought about accents for a very long time, but he found himself wishing he could hear Niall's. He wondered how Niall sounded when he said Harry, and he almost wanted to ask Niall to say his name just so he could see how his lips formed the word. But he liked Niall and didn't really want to scare him away by being so creepy.  
  
He wasn’t sure how long they were sitting there for, but Harry was pulled out of his thoughts by a warm hand on his shoulder.  
  
“Can you read lips?” Niall was asking.  
  
Harry nodded.  **Only when people speak clearly, not slowly, just with good enunciation.**  
  
“My ruddy accent probably makes it difficult to read my lips. And I talk too fast. Maybe we should stick to writing?”  
  
Harry chuckled out loud at this, and Niall looked surprised that Harry had actually produced a sound.  
  
 **Just speak normal, and you’ll be fine. I can’t tell you have an accent from lip reading.**  
  
Niall looked oddly satisfied at that answer, and he smiled softly, letting his gaze return to the lawn. Harry took this chance to study Niall again; his blonde hair, his red cheeks, the way his nose jutted out at an angle Harry had never seen before. Everything about Niall was fascinating to Harry, and he found himself being morbidly thankful he was just deaf, not blind. He didn’t look away when Niall turned to face him once again; even though it was painfully obvious he had been staring. “I like you.” Harry didn’t know how to respond so he smiled and placed his hand on Niall’s shoulder, hoping that the gesture expressed ‘the feeling is mutual.’

**Author's Note:**

> I had meant to write more of this, but I haven't really gotten around to it. I decided to put it as a series in case I ever decide to add more.


End file.
